An Unexpected Choice
by Miriamele of Shalott
Summary: After the dwarven party leaves Bag End, Bilbo wonders for the first time if adventures are such bad things, after all. Internal thoughts that led to his fated decision.


**The Hobbit:**_  
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_An Unexpected Choice_

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Morning birds were warbling brightly somewhere nearby, persuading Bilbo Baggins to awaken from his once-uneasy slumber. After cracking his eyes open, a painful jab speared into his head once the harsh light of the new sun reached him from his bedroom casement. He leaned into a sitting position, wincing as his sore neck made an unspoken complaint. A yawn and a few rapid blinks upon his surroundings was all it took to behold the familiarity of his lovely, warm hole-made-home beneath the earth, glorying in it all, as he returned to the living world.

Why was he still in his workaday clothes which were now rumpled, his suspenders hanging free, away from their proper place upon his shoulders? Why had he been laying above his bedclothes, on the foot of the bed, sleeping upon his side? And then he remembered in all its unpleasant clarity.

The dwarves. The near-destruction of his dear kitchen, the plunder of the beloved contents of his pantry. The unexpected party that took place just last night, with its unruly amusement and butter-thick tension…the offer, the plea to accept his role as burglar amongst them in their quest. His despair at the thought of having to leave Bag End, of all he knew and loved, and the fear of being "incinerated" by a greedy dragon was…it was all too much for his poor, small hobbit disposition to withstand.

As still and frozen as a well-made wall, Bilbo listened, his head tilting to the side, in anticipation for some noise, some sign of dwarfish life, whether active or sleepy, still lingering in his curving corridors or sitting room, but could detect next to nothing. No sound whatsoever but what he would ordinarily expect coming from the only home he ever knew.

But had they actually gone for good? Really and truly, once and for all? Couldn't be.

A flutter of something unnamed, some odd sentiment, whispered to his heart and pierced his stomach at the thought of the dwarves abandoning him, leaving him alone once again without even first bidding him farewell. Wasn't that what he had wanted all along, ever since they traipsed so rudely into his dining room and assumed he would risk his life for a land he had neither seen nor cared about, for a rabble of dwarves to whom he had just been acquainted?

Bilbo arose amidst his ponderings, his mattress creaking a little beneath him and he flinched in response, not keen on bringing attention to himself if the dwarves were still there, after all. With careful steps, he slowly went through his hobbit hole one corridor, one room at a time with pounding heart. Peeking next past the rounded doorway into his kitchen, at last he discovered nothing left behind as proof that last night's meeting actually happened but for still-smoking candles and a faint aroma of cold meats and dwarven leather.

Finally, Bilbo finished off his search in his own parlor where, with his hands smacking his thighs in relief, he came to the conclusion that the dwarven party had already begun their journey early and did not see it fit to even wake him. But what for, really? They already knew what his choice was, had they not? Surely, that daft wizard Gandalf the Grey or some mad name like that had informed the men of his refusal the previous night. Perhaps it had been a little cruel that, in their great need and Gandalf's pleading eyes, Bilbo had bluntly refused …neglected to aid them. And his reasons for it? He couldn't be bothered to take on some nasty adventure for he was loathe to abandon his home and go off to the unknown that likely involved uncomfortable situations and living conditions,. Far too accustomed to the simple, quiet, country life of the Shire to be of any use for something like that he knew. Books, a full pantry, a warm fire and his chair, now _that_ was what he wanted, where he would rather be…where he belonged. Imagining himself not being able to return to his bed again, being skewered by some frightening goblin or the dragon itself and being thrown to the wayside or buried in some cold dark cave without an epitaph made him shudder. It was all too much for his poor hobbit heart to bear.

He could not do it. He just could not.

Silly unremarkable stroke of ill luck that was all it was, no more, in finding those thirteen dwarves and one wizard at his round green door. In truth, it was an utter mistake.

He was no fighter or warrior or adventurer. He was no burglar.

Then a stray ray of sunlight glinted upon the grate in the hearth, the embers now cooled and black and yet it made him think of the dwarves' chant of their long-lost kingdom. How those low hums, sorrowful words, and haunting melody had touched him and moved him more than he had ever been in all his life. It all seemed to flood into his bones, his very soul and tried to change him. But hobbits were slow to change if change came at all. Or perhaps he was just too stubborn to listen. Now, for some inexplicable account, that feeling materialized out of nowhere and crawled more deeply into his heart than before.

These men had fought and bled and wept for something they believed in, for their kin and lands. They had been deprived of their cherished home, their kingdom, by age-old enemies, left to wander the Wilds aimlessly with all they loved and knew abandoned against their will. All that they had done was for nothing. It was all lost in the end anyway.

How would Bilbo feel if that had happened to him instead of they?

What did Bilbo believe in?

Just then, a clear image of the dwarves' leader flitted unbidden into his mind, his solemn yet hopeful carriage, those vivid eyes that bespoke his courage and decades of experience, the way he moved, the sound of his voice. Now that, _that_ was the son of a king…that was someone worth following. The very air about Thorin Oakenshield sparkled with something…indescribable, something inspiring and incredible. His skeptical reluctance to accept an unfamiliar halfling into his troupe was more than obvious, but Bilbo knew he had his reasons and could not blame him. Bilbo swallowed, feeling utterly ashamed for being too selfish to help a people in need or to sacrifice something for a dwarf as noble and majestic and worthy of what a small humble creature like Bilbo could give.

At once the sounds of the wind through the trees and the twittering animals reached Bilbo's ears, making him feel a strange longing, of an anxious urgency that he had not felt for a good decade or two. He recalled what it was like as a young hobbit to explore the East Farthing Woods, how exciting it was to befriend imaginary Elves and fight invisible trolls. Gandalf was right. He had wanted to have adventures ever since he could walk. Why had it faded, why? Suddenly, Bag End did not seem so attractive choice to him now. Truly, what was he doing with his life?

But could he do it, was it worth it to give in to the call of the dwarves' hymn and go along with them?

Was there still time?

Unexpectedly, Bilbo's eyes drifted to something on the table that should not be there. White parchment, black lettering, pages and pages of descriptions of treasure and death, he knew it well. It was the contract he was handed, the contract for him to join in the merry gathering of dwarves. And suddenly he knew what he was supposed to do. He grabbed a quill from his desk, signed his name, then hastily ran into his room to pack.

Whether he had time to reach their departing company or not, whether he would soon meet his end on the road or not, abruptly he understood it no longer mattered. He found a purpose for his life, one that would fulfill long-forgotten dreams of his childhood and the desperate call from a group of lost, homeless people in return. How could he live with himself ever again otherwise?

It was high time to begin his life once and for all.

And then, after readying himself and contract wafting in his hand like a banner, he burst through his beautiful green door with Gandalf's mark in it and fled across the hills and greens of the Shire he knew so well, through gardens and stumbling past chickens and hounds and over fences like a mad creature set loose until at last, upon being questioned announced like a fool, looking like a fool, and breathless, to all the world what he was about to do.

"I'm going…on…an a_dventure_!"

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**After seeing the Hobbit film for the second time recently which was unspeakably sublime and wonderful and all things good, once again being blown away by both Tolkien and Peter Jackson's inspired contributions to the world, I could not help but to write a little something in dedication.**

**Lastly, let me just say that Martin Freeman is the best and most perfect actor to play the part of young Bilbo. I just adore him and I can't WAIT to see (well, hear) more of the wondrous Benedict Cumberbatch as Smaug and the Necromancer. Can't wait!**

**Thank you for reading! Please review!**


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